A Matter Of Family
by ivyfedora
Summary: "So what is this?" asked the reporter, cameras flashing dazzlingly. She thrust a microphone in his face, finger hovering over the record button. Jonah bared his teeth into a grin, smiling even though his eyes weren't. "It's a matter of family."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the 39 Clues, or anything affiliated with it!**

* * *

_"I walk this empty street, on the broken boulevard of broken dreams. Where the city sleeps, and I walk alone."_

_~ Boulevard of Broken Dreams – Green Day ~_

* * *

Common sense, says Voltaire, is not so common.

I grip my fork, stabbing my mashed potatoes and watching them ooze gently over my plate. This "family togetherness" concept is choking me, another thing brought on by my politician father. The bills he signs are all about family, he says. The work he does is to better the community. So what better approach than to be a loving…dysfunctional, pretend family?

I don't like this. Before, it was easier when I could hate him. Hate's a strong emotion, even more so than fear, or the fickle thing called love. Now, he puts his arm around my shoulder, and I feel like one of those child-molestation victims, who are forced to reunite with their abuser. Every time he touches me, when he talks to me in public, when he expects the perfect answers, I can't help thinking of the Father who tells me I'm regressing, and that I'm never going to be good enough. Every nice word…when will he revert back to spitting insults? The other day, Mother hissed in my ear that I had a face on television not unlike that of a drowned cat, and control my actions, for Gideon's sake. All while smiling, patting down her make-up and waving demurely at the crowd.

Burping on camera never felt so good.

Sometimes at dinner, I want to stand up and scream. But I never do, because it's one of the unspoken rules of the house, that you will never cross Father. For all his sneering arrogance, Ian Kabra and his sister were like that. Are like that.

We say grace in silence, during which Ted fidgets silently. After that, Mother places a turkey on the table, water drops still glistening on the fresh lettuce like the dewfall.

Bon appétit.

* * *

"Your cooking's wonderful," says my father, beaming at my mother, who blushes at the 'surprising' praise.

"Why thank you, darling." Hah, she should thank the maid.

Oh, now she's blushing like a schoolgirl. What comes next, a cheesy, over-cliché punch-line?

"But not as wonderful as you, Marie."

My fork skitters loudly across my plate, making a loud screeching sound. Mother winces in pain.

"Darling, try not to scratch your cutlery against the plates. It's quite uncivilized."

The corners of Ted's mouth twitch into what resembles a smile. It vanishes when Dad's mouth starts forming words.

"What about you, Ted? Don't you love your mother's cooking, boy?" He nods, overly raving about the splendor of his steak. It's got too much emotion in it for a simple compliment, but he tries.

Before Father can say anything, Ned interrupts with a ravishing culinary review of the meal. Mother simply beams, looking at us happily. It's her dream come true, the perfect family to come home to.

"How nice it is to see all my men happy," she says, dabbing a tear. But Father isn't finished. "What about you Sinead?"

My mother grows pale, not wanting the conflict. "Oh no dear, it isn't necessary," she twitters, hands fluttering like leaves. "I'm sure she enjoys-"

"What about Sinead?" he says a little louder, staring directly at me. "Don't you have anything to say to your mother?"

"Yes, Fuher!" I say stiffly, in an impression of a German Nazi. Ned and Ted look deliciously horrified, but he's either choosing to ignore, or must not get the reference. "My compliments to the chef."

"You can do better than that," he says, eyes glittering dangerously. Sure, I think I will.

"Excuse me, Mother, Father," I say, half-bowing fluidly. They nod, as if I'm going to continue politely, which I'm not. "My compliments to Maria."

My father smiles, not sure if this is a joke.

"Sixteen years, and you do not know your mother's name?" he asks. "You're slowing down, Sinead."

"I wasn't done yet."

"Excuse me?" he says, not used to anyone talking back to him. "I'm sorry, carry on?"

"My compliments to Maria," I shout loudly, stressing every syllable clearly and banging my fork. "You know, our _cook_?"

He bangs his fist on the table, like a monkey trying to intimidate his foes. I am not impressed.

"Apologize!" my mother orders, voice shaking. My mouth twists into a wry grin.

"You know what? There's something you haven't learned."

My mother squeaks, but Father holds up a hand. "Very well," he says. "Let the child speak."

"You know what you don't know that even Eisenhower Holt knows?"

Silence fills the table. I take this chance to flick my gaze over everyone in the room. Expressions range from cool anger to outright awe. Ned and Ted mouth words of encouragement from behind my Father's back. My mother shushes them, even though they haven't made a sound.

Waves of cold wash through me, filling my veins with an icy fire.

"The little kids you bullied ten years ago? Children turn into teenagers, Father."

The hand flying through the air isn't as etherworldly, like an unattainable world above mine, full of power. It's thin, reedy, and missing the force behind it. This time around, I'm sixteen going on seventeen, not the same scared little kid, hiding in the broom closet and clutching a teddy bear.

This time, I'm willing to fight.

* * *

My hand goes flying through the air, and I duck, landing a direct hit on his eye. Whether it's lucky or intentional, I will never know, because my mother rushes forward with an ice-pack.

He presses it to his cheek, but not before I get a lovely view worthy of the Pulitzer Prize of a spreading black bruise. If a picture's worth a thousand words, that one broke the record.

The words I say next aren't like the last, not angry and furious, but a concentrated laser beam. And it hits right on his sore spot.

"And guess what? They're gonna fight back."

"Go to your room," he yells feraly. "Don't let me see you out of there, and you're grounded!"

I notice the overpowering, arrogant aura that surrounded him are gone, along with the words he usually would have ended that phrase with, "young lady."

"You won't," I shoot back, running up the stairs. "You never will."

Adrenaline still pumps through my veins, and I stuff a few weeks worth of clothes in my bag, dehydrated food and the most important things I can carry. In goes the teddy bear I have slept with ever since I was two. In goes the necklace and bracelet set my brothers spent three years saving up for. The jewelry that my parents gave me I leave. No reason to get arrested for stealing something I didn't.

I slide the window pane open, shivering in the night air, despite my sweater. It's much too thin for the Boston night air, but oh well. Out the rabbit hole, Alice.

My feet hit the ground with a soft thump! that sends clods of dirt flying.

As I turn to see my last glimpse of my childhood home, the windows in one of the rooms flash with light.

**-… . … .- ..-. .**  
be safe.

It's stupid, and it's wasting precious time, but I take a few seconds to scratch out furrows with a stick, using my shoe to dig little holes in the dirt, where I know Ned'll see it the next morning.

**- ... . -.- -.-. .- .-.. .-.. -.- - ..-**

**-.- - ..- ..-. .-. .. . -. -.. **(1)

The cell phone is thrown in the nearest lake, where they can track it tomorrow, when they'll have to provide the school and eventually, the press, with where I'm at.

Can't say your daughter ran off, can you?

I pull the crumpled sticky note out of my pocket, knowing that there are so many factors working against me right now. With steady hands, I insert two quarters and dial the scrawled number.

So many factors. They could have moved; this might be a prank number; this could be the library for all I know.

But by some miracle, the dial tone stops, and I hear a voice. An actual voice, not some generated answering machine. This must be my lucky day.

"Hello!" I snap, feeling my pride already deflating, to dial this number. "I need your help."

* * *

For one horrible second, the line goes dead. Then he takes me off hold, and informs me to "hang tight, my peeps are coming to get you."

I stay there for a long time, clutching the red plastic piece in my hand like it's a lifeline. A deep voice on the other side of the phone demands to know why they're making a pit stop at some godforsaken telephone booth in Boston, and the speaker bit is muffled while people argue loudly.

Screech! go the tires, both on the phone and off. A limo pulls up, honking. The window rolls down, and someone leans out, lifting their black tinted shades.

"Beep-beep," drawls the slow voice of Jonah Wizard. "Magic School Bus, you called?"

* * *

**(1) translation: they call you brother, I call you friend.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. Thanks to the four people who reviewed the previous chapter! About the silver thing, this is AU. Or at least, some of it is. XDD I know, isn't Jonah fun?**

**Disclaimer: ivyfedora doesn't not own the 39 Clues, some random publisher does! **

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___"I was broken, I was choking, this song saved my life.  
I was bleeding, stopped believing; could have died,  
This song saved my life."  
~ This Song Saved My Life - Simple Plan ~_

* * *

Jonah POV

My eyes swept the redhead's body, glossing over the raggedy sneakers and focusing on the white crescents in her hand. Her fingernails were nibbled to bits, and there were bags under her eyes. It didn't look like her best day, and Dad was already ragging on her.

"Why did we stop?" he demanded, looking up for the first time today since he got on his phone. "We need to be in Houston, pronto! I thought you said this was a pit stop! And who is _she_?"

Sinead perked up, quills ruffled. "_She_ has a name," she argued, looking annoyed. "I was collecting up on a favor."

"Is she Janus?" he asked curiously, voice a little less steel, and more of a brik wall. Small improvement. "Sorry I was so rushed earlier, we have to go to Houston, now!" Dad added, staring pointedly at the driver, who zoomed off to the airport, afraid of the famous Broderick rage.

"Ekat," she said pointedly, crossing her legs primly. I noticed she had a teddy bear in her lap. Was she going somewhere? "Does it matter?"

"Ekat!" Dad yelled. "So why are you here?" She stared at me silently, and I was reminded of a similar day a long time ago.

* * *

_I opened the door, holding a big bunch of flowers. "Was'sup, it's Jonah Wizard," I said with my usual swagger, daisies obscuring my vision. It was some important rich kid, that Mom insisted on me visiting in the hospital: Sinead Starling or something. Whoever she was, she looked vaguely familiar. _

_"Congratulations on your silver hit," she said, smiling. __Finally, something I could relate to. "Yeah," I said, grinning. "Actually, double platinum." _

_"And you got number forty-two on the Top Forty, right?" _

_I started to think there was a reason this girl was in the hospital. "Uh, second, actually," I corrected, refraining from adding, "and it's top forty, not top forty-two." _

_"Well, I guess I'll see you around," she said cheerfully, hugging the flowers. "Oh, you dropped this. Wouldn't want to lose your i.d. sticker, would you?" _

_I thanked her and left, something tugging at my mind. Silver...who would make that mistake? And forty-two had to be intentional, or she really did need medical attention. _

_The chart outside her room stated her name (so I was right), the treatment (skin surgery) and the risks. Losing memory...cancerous cells. I wasn't a doctor or anything, but that seemed pretty big for skin grafting. _

___Then, it hit me. Two units of silver! I was so stupid! _

_I went back inside to ask someone where she was, but I was informed that the procedure was already underway. Too late for anything now, Jonah. _

_My mom demanded to know where I got the clue, and I spilled. Every last detail of my conversation, I told her. Except for the part of going back. Somehow, I knew she wouldn't like that. _

_She smiled, telling me I did good. The girl was probably under medication, and it slipped out. Lucky I was the only one there. _

_A week later, I remembered that the hospital sticker was still on my favorite leather jacket. Crumbling the generic Hello-my-name-is sticker, something caught my eye. I smoothed out the paper, beads of sweat gathering on my forehead. _

_lucian...doctor...stop_

_She'd given me a clue for trust, and asked me to stop the operation. But why? _

_Googling her name, I saw her Facebook page and clicked on it. Marks ran parallel to her arms, but she was still smiling. Zooming in, I saw that they weren't marks; they were scars. _

_Scars that weren't there when I visited that morning._

* * *

She broke eye contact first, looking out the window. "Just collecting on a favor."

Dad looked perplexed. What kind of favor could a Janus owe an Ekat? Just because we weren't waging war on them like the Tomas were, didn't mean we were buddies or anything.

"Well," I said, trying to change the subject. "If you're coming with us, you need look like a Wizard."

Her confused look made me grin. Obviously she'd never had a makeover, Wizard style.

This was going to be fun.


End file.
